A Cars Christmas Carol
by Florida's Firefly
Summary: Based on the famous novel by Charles Dickens! Nobody quite knows why old Will Hudson hates Christmas...and everyone else in the world for that matter. But this particular Christmas Eve, things are about to happen that the old Hudson Hornet doesn't expect.
1. Old Mr Hudson

_**A/N:**_ Okay, well, I've wanted for years to do my own twist on Charles Dickens' _A Christmas Carol_. I started doing one using the Nemo characters, but it seems that fell by the wayside. Finally, this year, I'm stubborn. Now I am going to try my best to update this consistently, although some of the chapters may come after Christmas.

It's tradition in my family to watch _Muppet Christmas Carol_ every year, and it's my favorite version of the story I've seen so far. So there will be some references to that version in this one – but I did buy the actually Charles Dickens novel and have studied that a lot. I've tried to keep as close to the book as I can, and certain bits of the writing in there will be in my story here. I strongly recommend anyone who is a fan of the story to read the actual book – Charles Dickens has a particular and really cool effect on your writing style. Also, the only OC I use in this story is I little character I made way back when, since the story needs a Tiny Tim. grin"

Enjoy!!

_Chapter 1: Old Mr. Hudson_

Sheriff Marley was dead to begin with – as dead as the doornail on his coffin. He had been dead for nearly seven years now, and the only person that really grieved his death at all was also his business partner in life, and his clergy and undertaker after he was buried in the ground.

Sheriff Marley and William Hudson had been business partners for many, many years, and had together run the Hudson & Marley counting house - an old, dismal warehouse at the city street corner. Once Marley had died, Hudson carried the business along on his own. And, after all these years, the sign out front still read "Hudson and Marley", for Hudson had never sponged out his deceased partner's name.

He was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Mr. Hudson - a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner! He possessed every trait that made a fellow unpleasant. He was as cold and sharp as a flint, as secret, as self-contained, and as solitary as an oyster. It seemed he was affected by neither the warmth nor the cold. Everybody in town knew him, but nobody liked him or even dared to speak to him.

However, if you truly by some fantastical whim did feel the need or desire to grace the old car with your presence, you could almost always find him working away at his desk at the counting house. In fact, that's exactly where we find him now as we begin our story.

The counting house, as I had described it before, was a bleak, dark, and dismal place. Despite the wishes of his bookkeepers, Hudson always kept the place stone cold and never so much as put a single log or a meager lump of coal to burn in the fireplace. According to his miserly way of thinking, the warmth and light of a fireplace was a waste of money.

The head bookkeeper of the counting house was young Lightning McQueen, an impoverished but loyal worker for his boss. Hudson had only allowed young McQueen to warm himself during work hours with a single, humble candle – and on especially cold days, he would allow a worn-out cotton blanket McQueen brought from home. It barely provided any warmth at all, but it had to be better than nothing.

It just so happened that this particular day was Christmas Eve, a time when Hudson was at his worst. Hudson hated Christmas – every little thing about it. While the normal Christmas Eve bustle went on around him, he treated it like any other day, working away in his counting house.

Keeping by his dimly-lit candle and his worn-out cotton blanket, young McQueen copied letters and did his bookwork dutifully, glancing up out of the corner of his eye every once in a while at the clock. He cast a glance over at his fellow bookkeepers, and then cautiously over to his master. Doc was quiet and busy as always, and the only general sound that could be heard in the room at that moment was the ticking of the clock and the scribbling of the bookkeepers' pens.

"Uncle Will!!" A cheery voice suddenly broke the silence and the front door of the counting house opened up without a single knock preceding it. Doc finally looked up, and in came a young Chevy Impala low-rider with a purple metal flake paint job that was as bright as the smile on his face. In one wheel, he carried a Christmas wreath. "Merry Christmas to ya, Uncle Will!"

Doc only glared. "Ramone, how many times have I told you to not bring any of that merry rubbish of yours in my counting house?" he growled.

"Rubbish?" Ramone repeated. "Aw, c'mon, man! Lighten up, yeah? It's Christmas!"

"Christmas…" Doc muttered. "What right do you have to be merry,? You're poor enough…"

"Well, what right do you have to be such a grump?" Ramone grinned. "You're rich enough."

Lightning smiled and managed to stifle a chortle.

Doc only shook his head and begrudgingly went back to his work, grumbling something about retiring to Boca.

"I just don't get what you have against Christmas, _mi tio_."

Doc looked right at him. "Ramone, I live in a world of idiots. What else is Christmas than I time for paying money you don't have? If I could have it my way, every idiot that goes about with a 'Merry Christmas' on his lips should be roasted with his own turkey and buried with a stake of holly through his chrome!"

At this, Lightning and the bookkeepers each gave a quiet but horrified gasp.

"Uncle, please!" Ramone begged as he backed away slightly. "Take a bromo-seltzer or something!"

"_Ramone_," Doc insisted, "you keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine."

Ramone sighed and shrugged. "Okay…you're right. There's not a lot that I've financially benefited from in my life, Uncle. But I'll say that Christmas is the one day of the live-long year that feeds every spirit that accepts it. And although it's never put a piece of silver or gold in my trunk, I believe that it _has_ done me good, and _will_ do me good, and I say God bless it!" he announced.

"_Viva la Navidad_!!" Lightning gave a sudden cheer in his butchered Spanish without thinking. When he was met with a severe glare from his boss, he quickly stopped and buried his fender back into his bookwork.

"Another word from _you_," Doc threatened his clerk, "and you'll be spending _your_ Christmas pouring through the classifieds!!"

Lightning winced a bit behind his book at the reprimand and remained silent as ever. Ramone glanced from the young clerk to the old car. "Hey, c'mon, _tio_, lighten up on the poor guy," he tried.

"I'll handle my business the way I wish, nephew." Doc insisted.

"Come on, Uncle, don't be mad!" Ramone pleaded. "Come and have Christmas dinner with me and Flo tomorrow!"

Hudson tipped an eyebrow. "Why ever did you get married, Ramone?"

"Uh…_Porque caí en amor_?"

"English, nephew." Doc glared.

"Because I fell in love."

At that, Doc gave a laugh under his breath. "Love… That's the only thing in the world stupider than a 'Merry Christmas'!"

Ramone shook his head. "I give up, uncle. I should go. Have a good one, _amigo_!"

"Good bye, Ramone." Doc muttered.

"A Merry Christmas, _tio_!"

"Good bye, Ramone."

"And a Happy New Year!"

"Good _bye_, Ramone!"

The young Impala turned and proceeded to the door without an angry word. He stopped long enough to mount on the door the Christmas wreath he had brought in.

"Merry Christmas, Ramone." Lightning smiled.

"Merry Christmas, Lightnin'." Ramone smiled back as he left.

Doc only shook his head and had just started to get back to work when someone else entered the counting house. In taking his leave, Ramone had let in two more unexpected guests – a smaller yellow Fiat and an even smaller blue forklift.

"Pardon-a me," the Fiat addressed Doc, "this is-a the workplace of Hudson & Marley, no?"

Doc looked up at them. "It is," he answered.

"Do I have-a the pleasure of speaking to Mr. Hudson or Mr. Marley?"

"As of today, Sheriff Marley has been dead for seven years." Doc answered begrudgingly.

"Senor, I am-a Luigi Amiro, and this is-a Guido." He motioned to the blue forklift next to him. "We represent-a the Ranft Charity Foundation."

Doc frowned a bit. "What do you want?"

"Well, at this festive-a time of the year, Mr. Hudson, our foundation goes about-a to collect donations for all of-a the ones around us that are-a less fortunate and poor and-a homeless," Luigi explained.

Doc blinked, momentarily interested. "Are there no prisons? Union workhouses? Poor houses?"

"Plenty of-a those, sir, unfortunately."

"Ah, well, good to hear." Doc replied simply, returning to his work.

"We collect-a these donations in hopes of-a providing food and-a shelter for them. Now," Luigi added jovially. "What shall-a I put-a you down for?"

"Nothing." Doc replied bitterly.

"Oh, you wish-a to remain anonymous?"

"I wish to be left _alone_." Doc sneered. "I do not make myself 'merry' at Christmas and I cannot afford to make anyone else 'merry'. You want something from me? I support the poor houses – the homeless must go there."

"Those drafty old-a houses?" Luigi repeated in horror. "Many of-a the homeless cannot afford to-a go there, Mr. Hudson. And some would-a rather die!"

"If they'd rather die, they'd better do it and decrease the surplus population!" Doc snapped.

Both Luigi and Guido looked horrified by his brashness.

"_Good afternoon_, gentlemen." Doc motioned a tire towards the door.

Luigi gave a frown. "Fine. We can take a hint!"

"_Hint_??" Guido repeated as they drove for the door.

"Oh, shut up." Luigi glared at Doc. "Very well! We leave in a huff!"

"_La vostra madre era un criceto_!!" Guido announced to Doc.

"Do not waste-a your words on that buffoon, Guido." Luigi told the little forklift.

As the two of them left, Doc swung the door shut. He turned and was about to return to his desk when he heard a horn beep at him outside, a sign of yet another unexpected visitor. Now getting angry, Doc turned and swung the door back open to see who it was now.

Standing there at the end of the entry slope was a young and seemingly shy red fire truck. He was apparently selling his own-made Christmas wreaths, as he had them hanging along his sides. Silent at first, the fire truck looked a bit intimidated by the irritated, old Hudson Hornet that had stormed to the door. But, glancing at one of his wreaths he held in his tire, he smiled a bit and held it up as if offering it.

Doc only glared and slammed the door shut. As the old car turned around, his eyes wandered up to the wreath Ramone had hung up on his way out. He might as well help the fire truck orphan re-supply.

The fire truck had disappointedly started to drive away when he heard the door of the counting house open up again. Hopeful, he turned just in time to see Doc throw at him (with impressive force) the wreath from his door. Recoiling from the hit straight to his front, the fire truck's lip quivered and he raced off as fast as he could away from the counting house.

Slamming the door once more, Doc spun around to face his young clerk, who was currently gawking in horror at what he had just seen. Lightning quickly took the hint and got right back on his bookwork like nothing had ever happened.

_**TBC…**_


	2. Closing Time

_Chapter 2: Closing Time_

The end of the day finally rolled around. The bookkeepers, one-by-one, each left as the night grew closer until Lightning McQueen was the only one left. At the chime of eight o' clock, Lightning happily snuffed out his candle and proceeded to close up his books. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Doc was still working away, as if he had not heard the clock.

Carefully, Lightning ascended towards him and cleared his throat. "Um… e-excuse me, Mr. Hudson… But it-it's, uh, closing time."

"Fine, then…" Doc said without looking up, "I'll see you early tomorrow morning."

Lightning gave an uneasy fidget, as if a little nervous about what he was about to say. "…Uhm…t-tomorrow's Christmas, sir…"

Doc looked up at him. "…You'll want the whole day off, I suppose?"

"Y-Yes'sir…" Lightning gave a slight smile. "I-If it's all right…"

"It's not," his boss said immediately, making the clerk's smile slide right off his face. "You're aware that every day you are absent, it'll mean docking your pay for that day."

"W-Well, I don't… I mean… Don't I only get paid once a month…sir…?"

Doc shook his head. "…It's a poor excuse to pick a man's pocket every 25th of December, McQueen."

Disappointed, Lightning deflated on his tires a bit.

"But if you must…" Doc closed his book. "…Take the day off."

His clerk's suspension bounced right back up. "R-Really??" Lightning smiled, then promptly raced over to his boss to vigorously shake his tire. "Thank you, thank you, Mr. Hudson!"

With a frown, Doc simply pried his tire away and turned to make the finishing touches of his bookwork. Lightning's daily task of tidying up the room was done in what seemed like seconds. Once he was done, the young clerk grabbed his blanket and hat and headed for the door. "Thanks again, Mr. Hudson, I really owe ya one!" he called back to his boss, who was still seated at his desk.

"Never mind, McQueen." Doc waved it off, but added a warning. "But be here all the earlier the next morning!"

"I will, sir!" Lightning called back blissfully. "Merry Christmas!!"

Within two seconds, Doc heard the door open and close. He heard the departing cheer of his clerk, and the immediate roaring and departure of the engine that followed.

Doc shook his head and muttered to himself. "That's what I get for hiring a kid in the wrong career field."

A half-hour later, Doc finally packed and locked up the counting house. He made his way out onto the snowy, nearly empty streets and headed for home. Lamplighters were out with their long rods to light the gas lampposts along the roads.

Doc's house was an old and dismal heap of brick sitting in the middle of a dark street. They were chambers that had once belonged to his business partner, Sheriff Marley. Doc had inherited the house through Marley's will, since Marley had no other heirs.

Now it's here that I must remind you that Sheriff Marley had been dead for seven years and decaying in his grave. That one thing you must remember, or nothing that follows will seem wondrous.

Doc pulled up to the front door of the house and pulled out his keys. However, the very moment he put the right one into the keyhole, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye – on the doorknocker. Doc took a second glance and looked closely. Seeing nothing, he assumed it had been a snowflake or a bit of ice shimmering in the moonlight. But, after a moment, he could've sworn he saw movement.

He had. The doorknocker was, as impossible as it seemed, _moving_. Speechless, Doc could only stare. The doorknocker slowly but surely was beginning to change shape, twisting and morphing into a definite image…a face. First Doc made out the sharp eyes staring directly at him, then the protruding grill mustache – the face of Sheriff Marley.

Catching his breath, Doc quickly shut his eyes and shook his head, knowing he had to be seeing things. He finally opened his eyes and, to his relief, it was a doorknocker again. _I need a stiff drink is what… _the old car thought as he shook his head, then finally unlocked the door and went inside.

To say that Doc had not been startled by this bizarre phenomenon would be untrue. Still, the moment had passed, and he proceeded to light his candle. He did, however, stop to look at the back of the door, as if to see something there. But, all he saw were the bolts that held the doorknocker in place.

_Just going senile …_ he reminded himself, and shut the door behind him. The slam of the giant door echoed through the entire house. Doc Hudson was not normally one to be scared by the sound of echoes, but the incident at the door had increased his wariness and he gave a slight jump. Still, he shook it off, locked the door tightly, and carried on.

The house was outfitted with a series of wide ramps between all four floors. Little gas lamps lined the walls along each ramp, but nearly all of the time, day or night, they remained extinguished. With his single candle that only lit two feet in front of him, Doc continued up the ramps in this darkness. He didn't care nuts and bolts for darkness – it was cheap, and he liked it. But, with the image of Marley's face on the doorknocker still fresh in his mind, he did take the time to check his rooms – just in case.

Everything seemed all right. There was no one hiding under any tables, behind the doors, or inside the closets. After checking every nook and cranny and finding nothing, he finally shut himself in his bedroom for the night. The only further precaution he took was locking his bedroom door – double-locking it, in fact, which was not his custom. He put one single, small log in the fireplace and poured himself a small glass of premium, and sat silently by the fire.

About fifteen minutes passed as he simply sat by the fire and thought about what he had seen at the door. His thoughts distracted him until, all of the sudden, an abrupt ringing noise caught his attention. He snapped his eyes up to see what the noise had been, but by that time it had stopped. The only evidence Doc saw of where the noise had come from was a tiny, old bell mounted against the wall – which was still swinging a bit from its mysterious ringing. Doc blinked and glanced around cautiously.

Then, almost immediately, the bell started ringing again. This time, Doc looked up to see that is was only ringing as if by an invisible force. It wasn't ringing as if it had been tapped, but rather like someone had it by the handle and was shaking it with all of his or her might. Then it was as if this one bell was shouting something, for it set off every other bell, clock, and chime in the house, all of them creating together a haunting chorus. For only a minute that seemed like an hour, the bell that had started it all rang this way before abruptly and finally coming to a rest. The other bells followed pursuit within seconds, and soon everything was dead silent again.

Doc could only sit there like he always had, his head still reeling from what had just happened. But, just when he thought he could put his mind at ease again, he heard another strange sound. It was a metallic, clanking sound that sounded like it was coming from the cellar. At times, the clanks became screeches, like the horrible sound you hear when rusted metal is scraped together.

There was suddenly the sound of the cellar door booming open, followed by the metallic clanking coming up the ramps. And the screech got more and more deafening as it came closer and closer to the very door of his bedroom. It was the sound of iron chains being dragged across the floor…

The sound of a chain-bound ghost.

_**TBC…**_


	3. Apparition

_Chapter 3: Apparition_

The sound of the chains was getting closer and closer to the door, and wasn't showing any signs of stopping. _This isn't happening… _Doc insisted. _I won't believe it is._

At that moment, the single flame of the fire suddenly flared up for only a second before disappearing into a stream of wood smoke. Then, Doc saw a ghostly and eerily familiar figure as it came straight through the bolted-shut door and held still in front of him.

Sheriff Marley looked frighteningly the same as he had always been. But as a ghost, he looked even more intimidating than he had been in life. And though he was standing there right in front of Doc, there was absolutely nothing about him that alluded to any living being. Wrought iron chains were falling around his entire body, and lay on the floor all around him for several feet. He also almost had a dull, cold blue aura around him. And he was slightly transparent, so Doc could look right through him and see his old license plate on the back.

He looked right up at the phantom, who still was staring at him with that same almost-glare. "…Who are you?" Doc demanded.

At first, the ghost didn't speak or even break his gaze. "…In life…" he finally said, "I was your business partner, Sheriff Marley." After a moment of silence from Doc, he spoke up again. "You don't believe in me, do you?"

"…No. I-I don't."

"Why do you doubt it, Will?" the ghost asked. "You can see me, can't you?"

"…Yeah, but…" Doc looked the spirit up and down. "It couldn't be you… You have to be just a dream I'm having… I stopped believing in ghosts a long time ago!"

"And I never believed in ghosts my entire life. But here I am."

Doc was beginning to grow conscious to the fact this couldn't have been a dream. "But…if you _are_ real, than what are you doing here??"

Sheriff stared at him for a moment, before looking down at the chain around his wheel. "It's required of every man that his spirit should go among his fellow beings in life. And if the spirit doesn't go forth in life, he is condemned to do so after his death and witness what he can't share, but could've shared in life to use for the greater good!" He paused for a moment, looking regretful. "I made this chain in life by my selfish and greedy acts, and I'm now condemned to wear it for eternity… And you, Will Hudson, have a chain of your own. Seven years ago, it was as long and as heavy as mine."

Doc looked around at the floor, as if he expected to see the wrought iron chains around him. "I-I don't see them…"

"No living one can," Sheriff said, "until it's too late."

"Sh-Sheriff, please, don't criticize me… For once, can't you just have some sort of sympathy for me?"

"I don't have any sympathy to give. I've come only to give you a message." The ghost then gave him a stern glare. "But I can't give it until I know you believe in me."

At this moment, Doc steeled and he glared right back. "Then you're wasting your time. Because I know you don't exist! You're either the result of some bad fuel or…something! You aren't _real_, Sheriff!"

"_Hudson_!!" the spirit suddenly snapped at him angrily, making Doc give a startled jump. The spirit seemed to suddenly get bigger with some unearthly and terrifying presence. "You're not listening! With every single day that goes by, your chains get longer and longer, one link at a time! No one can see them until it's too late, and I've come to give you a chance to save your own wretched chrome! We all get _one_ chance in life to change our fate for the better, Will, _ONE _time! If you don't change now, your life is as good as spent!! Do you believe in me or not?!"

"Yes!" Doc said quickly. "I-I have to! I…I'm ready to listen!"

At that, the spirit seemed to return to normal size. But he still kept his glare on Doc as be spoke again. "Now, listen to me carefully, as it could mean your life. Tonight, you'll be visited by three spirits."

"Visited…?" Doc trembled, still a little startled from the ghost's tirade. "I-I've already had enough of that, thanks!"

"Without these visits, you can't even _hope_ to avoid your chains!" Sheriff snapped. "You're to meet the first of the ghosts tonight, after I've departed!"

Before Doc could reply, the grandfather clock suddenly struck a deep, melancholy one o'clock. A whooshing sound made Doc spin around. The bedroom window was wide open, and the old curtains fluttered in the frosty night air. A cold wind blew straight into the window and through Sheriff's ghost.

"My time is up," the ghost said. Then, without another word, he started for the window.

"What—Hey, Sh-Sheriff!" Doc watched him. "Where are you going?"

"Back with the rest of my kind. Condemned to wander the earth with them." The spirit stopped in front of the window, turned, and faced his terrified host. "Now remember that you will meet the first of the spirits tonight. Listen closely to that spirit and learn from him."

"Sh-Sheriff, if I have to see these guys, couldn't I meet them all at once and be done with it??" Doc tried.

"The three spirits don't compromise. They come when they're ready and when it's necessary for them. They'll come as they wish."

With that, the spirit started backwards and slowly glided out the window onto the wind. As soon as he had disappeared, the curtains fell back into place.

Doc curiosity got the best of him, and he hurried over to the window and pulled the curtains back to look out the window. He half-expected the see the ghost disappeared and the street in its normal snowy, dark state. But the sight he did see chilled him to his core. Everywhere - absolutely everywhere he looked outside the window, he saw phantoms just like Sheriff's. They glided on the room as ghostly streaks of cold blue and green, wandering the streets. One phantom was of a car Doc had known well in the world of finance. His chains were long, and they dragged him to a cruel stop as he tried to descend into the street to help a poor and homeless girl sitting alone in the snow. The ghost was then forced by his chains back onto the wind.

The fleeting thought of his own spirit wandering the streets with the haunting group scared Doc enough for him to quickly slam the window shut and close the curtains. He then gave a long sigh when everything went quiet again. He glanced over at the clock. It read 1:02. The last of the lingering fear passed by in no time and Doc shook his head. "Spirits…" he muttered. "I'll believe _that_ when I see 'em…"

As he got ready for bed, he paid only so much attention to his surroundings. He remembered what Sheriff's ghost had said about the spirit coming after his departure, but if that was even close to true, the guy was taking his sweet time. By the time he rolled into his bedchamber for the night, Doc had dismissed the whole thing all together. "Spirits my bumper…" he muttered as he drew his bed curtains closed.

_**TBC…**_


End file.
